The Automaton Heart
by infinitelystrangemachine
Summary: 50 one-shot prompts for Obi x Shirayuki: "It hasn't stopped." Shirayuki, shivering under a clinging layer of snow and adrenaline, can't follow. "Huh?" Obi smiles wryly and looks out over the blurred edge of the white cliff, the most extreme form of resuscitation he's ever experienced. "My heart."
1. Monstrous

_Hello, hello, and welcome to the first flash prompt of _The Automaton Heart_! These aren't being written in any particular order and they're not even being posted in the order they're written in, but at least some of them will be chronological. Some will be long, some will be very short. The chapters are based on fifty one-word prompts I pulled from a random word generator, and they're about the development of Obi and Shiryauki's relationship. Ship the good ship ObiYuki with me, my _AnS_-loving friends. :) Happy reading!_

_All credit goes to the manga-ka, Akiduki Sorata._

* * *

_"I'm only a man with a candle to guide me,_  
_ I'm taking a stand to escape what's inside me._  
_ A monster, a monster, I've turned into a monster;_  
_ A monster, a monster,_  
_** And it keeps getting stronger**._"

\- "_Monster_" by Imagine Dragons

* * *

#18: Monstrous

A few pungent bottles of something Obi can't pronounce into the night, and he is drawn away from the furthest vestiges of the party to become the center of a rowdy throng of Tanburn and Lions of the Mountains soldiers. Obi hasn't had a drink in months, and now it's calmed the infinitesimal shaking of his hands and the shadowy swirling of his thoughts. While Obi lets out a happy cry and waves a kunai aloft amidst husky roars and brotherly punches from the crowd, he thinks the alcohol might have stemmed something else, a feely sort of something hidden under his left temple that he'd tapped earlier while trying to jog the something loose, but to no avail. No matter. He chucks the kunai haphazardly, burying it up to the hilt in a cooked chicken, and the man carrying it howls with laughter, setting off the rest of the crowd.

"You!" shouts a nearby archer, pounding Obi on the back and dislodging the prawns someone has been stacking on Obi's head (he grabs one out of the air and eats it whole). "You are a _monster_, you know that?!"

Obi stumbles in a half-circle and finally claps the man on what he thinks is his shoulder - it's actually his bulbous nose, but Obi thinks he achieves the same effect. "I, sir?" he bellows, and the crowd "ooohs." "_Aye_, sir!" The crowd roars. "I am a shadow in the night! A soundless warrior, a slayer of pirates, an eater of spicy fish!" He throws his arms in the air and slowly rotates, drawing friendly slaps and joyful catcalls everywhere he turns, until someone yells over the litany.

"Tell us again! Tell us how you did it!"

The drink drowns Obi's aloofness. "Ha! How I slew two dozen scallywags? How I sent their fiercest warriors to the depths of Davy Jones' Locker?!"

Even as the men scream their approval, the asker is persistent. "No, no! How you ran through the wilderness! How you traveled dozens and dozens of miles on foot! You ran for days without food, with nothing but mountain water to sustain you!"

The crowd slowly quiets. Obi pauses. Real curiosity has stemmed their yells and sobered their flushed faces, and his lips tremble uncertainly. (Breaking through the haze of drink, Obi remembers streams crisscrossing his path, envisions how he set his pace equal to the flow of running water - a relentless, flying pace, faster than gravity's slide down the mountainside.) "You ran Mikaze's right-hand man down like an animal and dragged him to his own headquarters by knife-point. You fought him! How did you do it, man?"

"I -" The crowd chokes utterly silent in anticipation of his reply, but Obi's tongue is thick and warm in his mouth. Desperately, he throws back his head and cries, "I am as you say. I'm a monster!"

The crowd erupts into merriment again, crushing inward to hug him on all sides. Sobriety has pierced his consciousness, though. Awareness floods him like water bursting past a plug. "How about if Itoya had beaten you?" someone shouts playfully. Obi can't see any faces through the crush of humanity, something like forests obscured by trees. "What if you'd been too tired to go on, then? What if you'd been wounded, man?!"

For a miraculous moment, Obi thinks the crowd parts. His awareness has narrowed to a fine point - Shirayuki hovering outside the limits of the crush, looking for him, probably alerted by his loud shouts. Their eyes lock, and a face framed by red hair is like a lit candle, beckoning to his boat on the sea. He watches her while he replies under his breath. "Then I would have crawled."

* * *

_I think I completely rewrote this one three or four times, so it's satisfying to post it first. It goes from bitter to funny to bitter again... Obi was awesome while he was rescuing Shirayuki, but he also scared the crap out of me - he scared Shirayuki, too, if you take a second look at their confrontation in Chapter 26. Hopefully you guys remember who Itoya is - the ponytail guy Obi went gangsta on while he was looking for Shirayuki. Good times. I love writing about these two.  
_

_Leave a review and bully me into writing the next chapter. Stay beautiful, and thank you!_

_-ISM  
_


	2. Inadmissibility

_So AnS Chapter 53 ripped out my heart and threw it across the Pacific. This manga gives me pain, and I give it more fic! I was thinking about the various reasons why Obi has been keeping his feelings for Shirayuki secret. Protecting Zen's relationship with her has never seemed like a good enough explanation for someone like Obi._

_Also, Ryu knows. He just _knows_._

_Happy reading!_

* * *

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."  
-Lao Tzu

* * *

#44: Inadmissibility

"Master Obi," said Ryu, sorting his scattered papers one-handed with a book braced in the other arm, "when are you going to tell Miss Shirayuki that you love her?"

To his credit, Obi did not make an even slightly girlish noise when he walked straight into the nearest white stone pillar; it was more of a subtle, manly grunt (crossed with a pig's squeal). Shock smashed its way through him. All the papers he'd helped gather so far burst from his grip in every direction, and Ryu calmly set about scooping them up. He stared oddly at Obi the whole while, wondering if Obi was comfortable leaning silently with his face against the pillar like that.

"Miss Shirayuki is being transferred together with me, after all," Ryu pointed out, concerned that Obi didn't seem to be catching on and snatching the last paper before it could fly up and stick itself to the back of Obi's head. "You might not be able to see her again for a while."

Obi finally gathered himself enough to build a lax smile on his face, muscle by muscle and inch by inch. It was like carving misshapen pieces out of the earth and stone around him, then mashing them together and calling it a mask.

He whipped around and laughed frantically; Ryu stared at him blankly, vaguely aghast. "Hey, little Ryu, I don't know what you mean, but the young mistress and I-"

He hadn't known what he was going to say, so he was kind of glad that Ryu quietly interrupted him. "You don't have to be like that. You're always here together with Miss Shirayuki; you make excuses to come and see her. You laugh with her and you're happiest when you're with her. I don't talk about it, but I know you love her."

Simplicity beat all of Obi's protests stroke for steady stroke. Abruptly, there were no arguments left to him. The strained grin frozen on his face melted at the edges, and he stuck gloved hands in his pockets. He had nothing to fear from this small, unwitting boy. Wind thumbed through the papers in Ryu's grasp. "I'm not going to tell her," he said.

Fully expecting the young pharmacist to burst out with at least a _Why?_, he was surprised when Ryu simply stared at him thoughtfully, jaw moving a little in tandem with whatever hundred thousand thoughts were beating his brain black and blue.

"That prince," he said finally, and Obi winced. "Prince Zen loves Miss Shirayuki, too, and you call him your master. Is that why you won't tell her?"

"No, that's not quite it." Not _all_ of it, at least.

Ryu frowned. "Miss Shirayuki is... really honest. She tells me everything that she's thinking about. So do you - usually." Obi smiled. "When Miss Shirayuki tells me what she thinks about me, I like it, whether it's good or bad. If you told her what you thought about her, I think it would make her feel... loved. That's a good feeling."

"Young Ryu," he said with difficulty, "feelings can be a gift to the people around you." _Theirs_ were to him. "But sometimes, knowing what someone else feels about you can be a... great burden." He rested a gentle hand on Ryu's thin shoulder. "If I tell my mistress how I feel, I think it will hurt her."

In his mind's eye, a terrible scenario played out. Eyes green like sunlight shafting through leaves clouding over; unsmiling, pale lips thinning to nothing. The ember of hope that he so selfishly clung to flickered in his chest.

Ryu let Obi's words sink in. And then: "What about you?"

He chuckled. "I'm fine." If he had anything to do with it, Master and Shirayuki would be fine, too. "I'm always fine."

Later, Shirayuki bent over several open, dusty tomes on the surface of a greenhouse table. Obi approached and poked her in the back with a steaming plate of shrimp and noodles, and when she startled and turned around, her stilted limbs seemed to sag with some measure of relief.

She didn't react when Obi told her what he knew about the transfer. She only dug into the food with more gusto despite its spiciness, laughed tiredly, and said, between bites, "Obi, what am I going to do without you?"

Ryu's words struck Obi's thoughts with almost audible force. He wrangled away a nervous laugh and thought about the things he knew to be true. He licked dry lips and clenched gloved hands under the table.

_I know you love her._

"You're brave, Mistress," he said at last. Summer-green eyes were on him, their weight warm and light. "I think you're the bravest person I know. Besides, Master is with you. I'm with you. Even when we're apart." Where was the edge of this precipice? Under his toes? It was painted somewhere on her face, if only he could look at it properly. "You're going to be all right."

Silence fell like dusk, settling and drifting for an undefinable amount of time. When Obi's stubbornly deflated lungs were working again, he raised his head and found Shirayuki smiling damply.

"Thank you," she whispered.

It was then that Obi believed, for perhaps the very first time, that he really was going to be just fine.

* * *

_It's important to tell loved ones things, even when it's hard. Obi is just kind of limited to the amount of truth he can tell... heh heh... I wouldn't be surprised if Obi just never revealed his feelings to anyone, but Sorata-san can only tease us so much, right?_

_Please review, tell me what you're thinking, and stay beautiful!_

_-ISM_


	3. Noise

_Hello! How is everyone doing? I've been doing another AnS reread, and it's so beautiful and wonderful, and so hilariously painful how quickly and obviously Obi fell in love with Shirayuki that my feels are just everywhere. Chapter 54 was great! I think, however, that all is not as it seems..._

_This flash piece was quick and fun to write. It's always fun to think about what Obi and Shirayuki experienced in Tanburn (Tanbarun? Well, simplicity is everything), and I've taken some liberties with the time frame covered in the manga. I think they were at the palace for quite some time, not to mention traveling time. This will definitely not be the last Tanburn chapter._

_Happy reading!_

* * *

"Silence is a true friend who never betrays."  
-Confucius

* * *

#11: Noise

Every second Shirayuki spends in Tanburn is a second stretched to the point of cracking the furthest edges of its allotted time. So far, they've been pretty strange seconds, too. Seconds filled with noise.

Every day at two and six P.M., there is the cripplingly uncomfortable sound of herself and Prince Raji drinking their tea. She can almost hear Raji silently wishing he could strangle himself with his cravat over their polite, wet sips. There is the constant rustle and hush of fine, starched fabric about her calves and forearms, sounds that fire little itches up along her knees, elbows, and shoulders that probably aren't really there. And, of course, there is the cacophony of the palace itself, much different from the friendly, busy hum of Wistal - involving many more bangs, thuds, shouts, and staff members scurrying from room to hallway to stairwell, mainly, Shirayuki is finding, because of the nefarious twin royals, Rona and Eugena.

However, not even the terrible twins (as she begins to affectionately call them in her mind) can raise a ruckus equal to the one going on inside Shirayuki's own head.

Thoughts racing faster and faster, Shirayuki quickly lets them slip out of her control. Tanburn feels like a trap rather than the home she'd once loved. Faceless whispers follow her around corners, and there is always, always the possibility that she won't be allowed to leave even once the ball is over and she packs up her long skirts and gowns for good. Memories of Raji's insufferable idiocy crash over her mind in nauseating waves, eating away at more recent recollections of his sincerity and unexpected smiles. Worst of all, there are Prince Izana's half-concealed threats, sly and patronizing and drifting like smog over her every step.

The blood in her veins (common as dirt) roars in her ears.

A touch to her elbow, warm and featherlight to near nonexistence, interrupts. Her thoughts are silenced. Effortlessly, she anchors her mind to Obi's presence mere inches behind her.

Obi is so easy to forget about these days. He is utter quiet adrift on a sea of whispering staff, Raji's bumbling, training, politics, and the unfamiliarity of the palace. But he is always there, she remembers now; always in her line of sight and ready to deliver perfectly timed eye-rolls or weird faces to make her laugh and snort, unprepared, into her sleeves and kerchief when no one else is looking. Always there to murmur encouragement and bits of advice near the back of her neck the instant she begins to doubt herself. Always steadying her - she remembers strong hands catching her in the library the day before, his warm smile later that night in the dark.

A small, blonde shape scuttles across the hallway in the distance; a trail of maids hurries after, their cries of annoyance and worry finding Shirayuki and Obi further back on the grand stretch of red carpet and stone. The sounds are clear and bright in Shirayuki's ears.

When Obi murmurs, "How are you doing, Mistress?" she can honestly whisper back, "Better."

* * *

_Yahoo, Shirayuki's perspective! It's a much less turbulent point of view to write from, which is interesting, since Obi is so lighthearted and hilarious. He's a mysterious guy, and Shirayuki is totally straightforward in everything she says and does. I also think I stuck to the actual prompt better in this chapter!_

_Please do review, dear readers, and stay beautiful!_

_-ISM_


	4. Overtime

_Hello there, my precious readers! Sorry about the lack of updates as of late. This series will soon go on hiatus, but I shall return! AnS better not end while I'm away, ack! Anyway, I'll try to cram in a few more updates before I head out. Don't be surprised if I only get a couple more done, though. Thank you all so, SO MUCH for your favs, follows, and reviews! I love you all! _

_Anyway, this flash prompt is a change of tone from the last three. It's a little funnier.__** Obi is still new to Wistal, so he and Shirayuki don't know each other well yet.**__ I wish there was an in-story way to make that more clear, but though it's good background info to know, it wasn't necessary. Obi is forever a goofball. Happy reading!_

* * *

_"I see the walls, then see them fall._  
_You break through them all. _  
_I see you crawl, now you stand tall; _  
_Grow and grow till tall."  
_  
_-"Around Us" by Jónsi_

* * *

#9: Overtime

Wistal's entire crop of yura shigure nearly dies one night.

At four in the morning, long after she's finally discovered the foreign insect attacking the plants, Shirayuki looks up wearily through her sweat-soaked hair to find Obi still working at her side, just as tired, sweaty, dirty, and determined as she, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, which are buried in an expanse of crimson flowers.

She's struck by the sight; she can't bring her aching limbs to move, much less make herself tear her gaze away from the shifting landscape of Obi's back and forearms in the meager coming of a grey dawn. Dig down deep. Feel around the roots. Seek out the infecting insects' pods, hard like walnuts buried in the soil. Obi's fluid motions jolt to a halt. With a sharp jerk, he tears a pod free, notices Shirayuki has stopped moving, and looks up abruptly, greeting her with a face completely smudged with grime. Then he reels, tipping clumsily sideways. She can see his eyelids fluttering. It's probably the first time in hours he's raised his head from their work.

Then Shirayuki bursts out laughing.

Where it comes from, she doesn't really know. Little tears prickle painfully from her exhausted eyes to smear between her lashes. She holds her middle and doubles over where she is kneeling in the dirt, and poor Obi, kneeling beside her, is at a complete loss. So, naturally, he tumbles into a fit of giggling.

"You - look - so funny!" Shirayuki gasps, trying to wipe her eyes. "Two little eyes and then - I can't even see the rest of your face!"

They laugh helplessly. They're both incurably dirty, both their voices are rough from lack of water and sleep, and they're so cramped from kneeling and crouching in the dirt for the last several hours, Shirayuki is sure that they'll both need to invest in a cane come sunrise.

Unbidden, hazy, exhaustion-ridden memories return to her. Obi fetching her the books she'd needed, bookmarking them for her, stashing them away. Bending over specimen after specimen and listing off symptoms to her, because his eyes had taken longer to tire out. She can't remember Obi following her to the greenhouses and then to the yura shigure patch, can barely recall him digging and crawling and slaving away with her, yet here they are. She is sure he hasn't left her side once the entire day and night.

Why?

Shirayuki is startled out of her thoughts by a rough, bare thumb stroking across her cheek. Obi pulls away and she stares at him, flabbergasted. Their laughter peters out into chuckling, then dies. In the dim, early morning haze, he grins, brilliantly white teeth flashing out at her from a dirt-smudged face. He reaches out again, strokes her other cheek. She is sure she imagines it when his touch lingers unnecessarily and his eyes fall out of focus in the dimness.

_To match the other side,_ Shirayuki realizes while his grin widens. She can't fathom what he's drawn in the dirt on her face. Her cheeks are burning. She recalls him suddenly ripping off a mask; her mask. Something about his hand moving on its own.

Obi snorts enormously, which abruptly pitches Shirayuki off the edge again. "You're not much better!" he guffaws. "You look like a tree stump that's caught on fire!"

Utter sleep deprivation fuels the remainder of their hilarity and their work. When it is done, Shirayuki simply rolls into the grass and sprawls on her back, ignoring Obi's sensible disapproval. The last thing she sees before her eyelids slam shut is Obi's scraped, dirty hands gently cupping a newly enlivened yura shigure bloom, brilliantly red against his dark, soiled skin.

Every single yura shigure survives.

* * *

_And then Zen found them that morning and yelled at Obi for an hour straight. That is what happened. _

_Originally, only the first two sentences of this piece existed. I did my best to expand it, haha. Though that first little bit is pretty powerful; it really can almost stand by itself. The million-dollar question: is Obi just helping out because he likes Shirayuki, or does he really care about the plants? Is he as hopeless and dirty as he thinks he is? (Hint: probably not.) _

_Heh, Obi would never touch Shirayuki like that unless he really was that tired and sore. What did he draw on her face? I have no idea. If Shirayuki had drawn on Obi, she would have totally done cat whiskers. _

_Review and tell me all of your thoughts and feelings. Oh, and tell me what you think of the chapter, too. :) Stay beautiful! -ISM_


	5. Mean

_Look, everybody! I'm back from hiatus! That really does happen sometimes! Hope you'll forgive me and keep reading about Obi and Shirayuki with me. I caught up on all the AnS chapters I missed while I was away. And - and - adsjhjfafakfda._

_I won't spoil the newest chapters for those of you who may not have read them, or who solely watch the show. Ssshhh, just cry with me._

_Here's a blast from the past - near the very beginning of Obi and Shirayuki's relationship, before Shirayuki liked him (even marginally). Happy reading!_

* * *

_"How I wish you could see the potential  
The potential of you and me._  
_It's like a book elegantly bound_  
_But in a language that you can't read (just yet)."  
_

_-Death Cab for Cutie, "I Will Possess Your Heart"_

* * *

#6: Mean

Shirayuki isn't sure what she ever did to make Zen hate her so.

"Oi, Little Miss, I found a book I think you'd like!"

Really, how much trouble could she get in like this, locked up in a very public greenhouse in the middle of the day? Could she not do her work by herself as usual?

"No, really, look this time! It says -" She really doesn't care what it says. "- that when leaves turn red it's because of an-thoo-kay-nine." Fascinating. "Makes apples red, too."

She looks up quickly. Obi's smirk - ha-ha-made-you-look - pierces her instantly. She purses her lips together and looks back down at the book on her desk. "Mm-hm."

This one-sided conversation has been going on for about thirty minutes now.

"And raspberries. Mmmm, and cherries!"

Make that thirty-one.

"An-toe-kay-nine. An-toe-kee-nin. An-tah-sai-neen?"

Evidently, if Obi was to be driven insane by book-reading, then he was going to take her down with him.

"Uh, Miss, what is an-though-canine? Some kind of fertilizer? Ew."

At least he was sitting across the room now. Earlier, he'd stood in the corner. Then sat on top of a bookshelf. Then sprawled across her desk. Then she'd put her foot down.

"Really, it is beyond me how you can sit and read a book for hours. One hour, okay, maybe. But three? Eye-strain is real, you know. Gotta watch it. Hahaha, see what I did there?"

Why, oh why, was she stuck with... this? There isn't even any foreseeable end in sight. Was he assigned to her as a bodyguard (come on, now, but against what at this time of day?), or was _she_ assigned to _him_ as his babysitter?

She jumps when his voice is abruptly one foot away rather than ten. "No sudden moves, Young Miss!"

Leather whispers and then squeaks over leather. She glances up just in time to see a book slide harmlessly from the stack to her left - leaving a perfect, Guide-to-Local-Herbs-and-Weeds-sized hole in the criss-cross tower of tomes Obi had constructed about two hours ago. He holds it aloft like a trophy, grinning from ear to ear. He opens his mouth, probably to say something clever. Until she stands up, quick as an arrow-shot.

Shirayuki can't take it one moment more. Not a single one.

The tiniest touch of fear crosses Obi's face. He closes his mouth and puts the book down. Then Shirayuki grabs an armful of books from the top of the stack - so many that her arms shake trying to hold them all - marches around the desk, and pushes the stack into his chest with the small amount of force she can muster. Obi's arms snap up automatically around the stack, just in time to keep them from tumbling all over himself. Shirayuki takes a step back, resists the urge to help him, then straightens up as tall as she can.

"I still have a whole day of work ahead of me," she says tightly. "I'm tired and I'm behind schedule. I - I'm sorry -" (_No,_ _not_ sorry.) "- but you're wasting my time."

She turns her back on him and walks away. Personally, she feels that she pulled off the effect quite nicely.

There is no sign of movement behind her, but he can be so quiet... Despite herself, her lips press into a nervous, thin line, and she reaches a bookshelf, pulls down the dusty beaker she needs. She takes a breath and turns. Obi has not moved; he's clutching the books and watching her.

She walks back to the desk, sets the beaker down, and picks up the nearest book, trying not to look at him. For goodness' sake - he shifts a little, probably because of the weight of the books, but he's quite close to her and absolutely silent. For once.

She can't stand it.

The tension breaks. She turns, one hand on the desk, bows her head meekly, catches sight of his wounded expression, and opens her mouth to make amends.

Only to go hot and cold all over when she hears him make a soft noise and she looks up and he's within inches of her and he smirks mischievously because he's _caught her._

He takes the book from her - a set of his fingers trails over the ends of hers - puts it on his stack, and holds her affronted stare with laughing, golden eyes until he turns away and begins shelving the books.

"Gotcha," he whispers, and his pulse hammers in his throat.

* * *

_"And I know that you'll find, love,_  
_**I will possess your heart**."_

* * *

_The word Obi was trying to pronounce is "anthocyanin." It's a natural pigment that can make certain plants look blue, purple, or red._

_This kind of turned into a "the moment Obi realizes he's met his match and that he's in love with Shirayuki" moment. I didn't mean to do that._

_Shirayuki is not a perfect person. But you can't fault anyone for their weaknesses or little annoyances - so long as we learn to be charitable, and kind, just a little bit at a time. Of course, Obi wasn't being exactly angelic about the whole thing, either..._

_Basically, they were both being "mean."_

_Please review and leave a comment about things you'd like to see in the coming chapters. I have ideas, but maybe I'll end up getting inspired by one of yours! :) Stay beautiful,_

_-ISM_


	6. Reneger

_Hey, everybody! Thank you so much for the huge response to the last chapter, the one that broke the hiatus. I'm glad you liked it! I'm also glad to look around the Internet and see how many people have fallen in love with Obi and how many people are in so much pain over him and Shirayuki... We are the SAME! :D_

_Here's a long one. I got kind of excited. I don't know when it takes place, it doesn't really matter here, but judging by the depth of their relationship, it's probably sometime during or after Lyrias. Happy reading!_

* * *

_**Reneger: **verb._

_1\. _Cards._ To play a card that is not of the suit led when one can follow suit; break a rule of play._

_2\. T__o go back on one's word._

* * *

#40: Reneger

Obi crouched in the shadows on sore haunches, blood roaring in his ears. By the time he'd calmed somewhat, eyes trained on a spot a few feet above his head and a stone's throw in the woodsy distance, instinct had already swallowed him. He stopped breathing. The only movement remaining was inward; his own, pumping blood.

This was always the touchy part. Waiting. His lip curled.

"Come on," he crooned softly, hardly more than the click of consonants amidst his softest breath. "You know you want it."

Nothing. A bird darted and dove into the foliage overhead. Worry gripped him.

No. He'd run far enough, but not too far - fast, and not too fast. He was coming. Toward him, away from -

Ah.

_thump-baddathump-baddathump_

Three.

_Thump-Baddathump-Baddathump_

Two.

_Thump-BaddaTHUMP-BADDA-THUMP-BADDA -_

One.

Hooves dug into loamy earth; the horse snorted in surprise. Its rider uttered a low complaint. Fabric rustled busily over leather, then - boots hitting the ground.

Obi smirked.

The thug waded through thigh-high underbrush, growth too thick and brambly to admit a horse. The guy made enough noise to wake the dead, but he probably knew that Obi wasn't exactly hiding from him.

"Come on," Obi breathed. "C'mere, c'mere -"

And he appeared, his head ducking under branches, kicking his way forward, sweeping the underbrush with wind-shot eyes and nostrils flared like a bloodhound -

Obi's fingers brushed over a holster strapped around his leg, drawing a knife -

As if in answer, the thug drew his machete -

And silently, quick as a lightning strike, Obi sprang.

\- the guy almost sees him too late, airborne with the knife cocked in stabbing position in his fist, arm drawn across his body, knees bent. But he does and at the last instant whirls and gives a wild yell and Obi slams into him _hard _but the knife only grazes a shoulder and they both go down tangled in the forest floor and the knife stabs into the dirt but Obi rips it free and he and the thug roll apart and they're on their feet and Obi slashes the air faster than the guy can handle his machete and Obi rolls the hilt in his palm so he can punch him in the face, in the gut, kick him in the chest, and he's winded with his torso caved and Obi bars his machete arm around the elbow and brings the forearm down with crushing strength over his knee and the man screams but the machete falls from momentarily lifeless fingers and Obi kicks it away as hard as he can. The ligament is probably torn, but the bone is still hale, and Obi has to leap aside and take a cuff to the side of his head as the man flails at him but then Obi turns and stands his ground and trades slashes with the knife for the guy's heavy punches until the man somehow seizes _both_ of Obi's wrists and they seem to freeze in time, strength bending against strength and they're snarling in each other's faces while Obi's body bows to keep from being thrown and something finally gives. In an instant Obi's wrist twists horribly and he drops the knife but he breaks the thug's grip and Obi _jumps _and he's up swinging around the man's shoulders with his head between Obi's thighs and he bars the man's arm across his own chest at a terrible angle, he howls, and they go down again with the man thrown hard to the ground twixt Obi's legs.

He could feel the man moving somewhat sluggishly, obviously injured and trying to disentangle himself without breaking anything else. But it took Obi a little while to figure out why he wasn't moving, too - why his memories of the last five seconds were so scattered, why his lungs felt like they'd never rake in another breath. Then, as he gasped in his first, painful lungful, he felt it - a large, moss-covered, wholly invisible rock crushed up against his shoulder. A rock he'd stunned himself on in the fall. Right on cue, the ache began eating its way up the back of Obi's skull.

He sat up and nearly retched into the underbrush, stomach heaving. Too late. The thug crouched in front of him, a tight grin on his face, the knife in his hand.

The guy shifted, readying to spring into Obi's lap and punch that knife right into his chest -

Obi gathered his weight, ready to leap to his feet whenever the man leaped -

And they both realized that it was not silent in the woods.

Something crashed like an elephant through the underbrush, close, unnoticed until -

A person came hurtling out of absolutely nowhere, nearly trampling them where they hunkered in the brambles and rocks, and they burst into view above them in a flash of dark cloak and flying red hair.

"_NO!_"

Obi could only watch gobsmacked as Shirayuki threw herself to the ground nearly on top of him.

She pushed him back, throwing him off-balance - he caught himself on his hands before he could fall flat on his back. She was learning back into his chest with her legs tangled underneath her, sitting between his legs, arms thrown out behind her and backwards-ly holding him, holding herself between him and the thug. He had a faceful of her red, red hair. And she was breathing hard, shoulders heaving with each intake.

"S-stop," she choked out, pressing further back into Obi, clutching him protectively. "Don't you _dare_ come any closer."

Obi's view of the man was limited, but he could see his face - jaw brushing the forest floor. And the knife - limp in his hand.

Not for long.

Bracing himself shakily on one hand, Obi grabbed her around the waist, making her jump, thinking to throw his weight and roll over to get her underneath him, put his back to the knife when it came lashing out for them, because they were surely out of time.

But the thug only turned slowly to Obi's right, from whence Shirayuki had come.

The crashing in the underbrush had not stopped.

"Obi!" Shirayuki cried, unthinking, _really_ shoving back into him now, and a panicked, foamy, frothing horse burst like an explosion from the woods over them.

Right on top of the hollering thug.

Shock smashed its way through Obi's system and he did roll them then, threw them to the side with his body curled around her and his free hand pressing her head to the forest floor under his chest. The concussions of frantic hoofbeats boomed through the ground behind them, the horse positively _screeching_ as it reared and plunged, probably tangled in the brambles, probably tangled in the body prone under its hooves. Then it whinnied and Obi looked up and it wheeled, turning frantically with its haunches close to the ground, and only then did Obi see the slash of smeared blood on its shank from a poorly-placed knife before it plunged away into the thick of the woods, saddle askew and reins dragging treacherously.

Gradually, the sounds of cracking and tearing foliage ebbed away. No one moved or breathed.

Except the thug, who lay not far from them in the brush, merely unconscious - breathing, but definitely not going anywhere for a while.

Then: "Are you all right?" Obi said into the crown of Shirayuki's head.

"Yeah," she mumbled.

Slowly, Obi unwound his arms from around his mistress, lifting himself delicately off of her with two hands braced into the loamy ground. He rolled to the side, sitting upright again, staring at nothing and breathing too slow to keep up with his racing heart. Next to him, Shirayuki gathered herself, sitting up slowly, next to him but facing the opposite direction.

He scooted, turned to her, reaching out and gently taking hold of both her arms just to the side of the shoulders, turning her towards him. She looked at the ground.

_What were you thinking?_

_What were you _thinking?

Obi jerked his head in the direction the horse went. "Did you plan that?"

"Yeah." She bit her lip. The movement entranced him. "Stuffed the saddle strap on his belly full of itching vine to drive him crazy. He followed me like I thought he would."

He smiled weakly. "He could have got you, too. That guy could have _stabbed_ you. You've got to trust me to handle myself, of all people-"

"I just got this feeling, I _knew_ I had to go after you -"

His throat felt very full. "You _promised_ you would wait for me," he said, laughing into the words a little. He shook her gently. "You _promised_ you'd stay at the camp. You kind of broke your promise."

She smiled thinly.

"_Why?_"

Then his arms dropped from her because she pressed a hand gently to his chest, right there, heavy like a promise, right where the scar was, her thumb on his collarbone, the ends of her fingers cool in the hollow of his throat. He swallowed thickly.

"Because," she said, looking _right_ into his eyes, "I've got something I want to protect, too."

She smiled brightly. Obi's mouth hung open, stupefied.

Because this - _this_ was the most intimate thing Obi had _ever _seen her do, and his whole skull was throbbing and he still kind of wanted to lie there and be sick into the forest floor like a dog stuffed with grass, but she didn't give him much time to think about anything, because she moved forward and hugged him so hard his eyes bugged out.

Not really hugging, not quite - she was grabbing him to her, pressing him into herself with all her strength.

Obi hugged back feebly, eyes wide - then not so feebly, eyes squinching shut, arms tight around her waist.

Eventually, they tied up the thug and made their way back to camp, the unspoken weighing heavily in their steps.

* * *

_Yeah! I love writing action-packed things! I also love it when Shirayuki pulls role-reversals on people. I especially liked this side of her at the beginning of the manga. Kind of a way she "breaks the rules."_

_Thanks for all your story ideas! I do like them! Keep 'em coming if there's something you want to see in these one-shots. I'm sure they will help me to pump out better updates faster. :) Please review! _

_Stay beautiful,_

_-ISM_


	7. Timing

_Guys! I had such a terrible block on this chapter, it was bad. I went through four or five different drafts of different themes before this one finally popped out. Hope you like it! _

_You guys are all so sweet and supportive! Thank you so much for reading. Know that I appreciate the existence of every single one of you. :) Happy reading!_

* * *

"Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it's all over."  
-Octavia Butler

* * *

#15: Timing

"Perfect."

Obi actually whirls, his whole body contorting with sheer glee. Kiki holds up a hand, restrains his - in his own personal opinion, were you to ask him - infinite wit.

"Again," she orders.

Biting his lip to contain himself, he straightens, again straddles the end of the thin line drawn in the dirt beneath him. He bends to a crouch, then snaps backward, throwing his weight as hard as he can. The back handsprings slam in his palms and feet; the world upends itself frantically in his vision over and over. For good measure, he finishes on a backflip, soaring high, completing three rotations. His feet strike earth, legs straight and steady as rock, straddling the line.

He looks at her, grinning expectantly.

"Perfect," she says.

She sounds like she doesn't want to believe it.

* * *

"Perfect."

The word is breathed through the throat. Full of greed.

Four knives jockey for space at the dead center of a wooden target over twenty feet away. Everyone can barely see it through the thick of the trees.

Obi can see it just fine.

He looks over his shoulder at her through the slit of light left to him between cowl and mask. She looks back with an expression that makes his skin crawl.

"I expected no less of you," she admits. "I've heard plenty. And so _young_, too."

He says nothing.

"But can you kill?" she presses.

Someone breaks in, making Obi turn. "He already has," says the onlooker. "He's five for five in the field."

She chuckles. "Perfect." Then she gestures at the bound man kneeling to the left of the wooden target, a burlap sack bound around his head. "Now prove it."

* * *

The arrow trembles in the wall not a foot from the girl's delicate hand.

_Perfect_, he mouths to himself.

Maybe she'll live to tell this tale, after all.

She rips the arrow from the wall.

_Well. Scratch that thought. _He's almost pleased with her.

On the move, too, trailing her at a distance. Wondering if he should intercept her. She was barging forward to her death, after all.

Somehow he knows that, should he strike this time, he'll surely miss.

* * *

_Now you've done it._

"Aaaannd I did it."

She's heavy in his arms - more particularly, she is in one arm, and the big box is in the other.

_Perfect_, his brain tells him sardonically. If he'd hesitated one instant more, she'd be on the ground. Perfect timing.

They stay like that for probably longer than they need to, with his arm warm around her. Her head has fallen back and they stare at each other, breath fogging between them. Her expression shows she's afraid.

He looks away and sets her on her feet.

When she walks away, he stops himself from following, and he feels later that he missed his window.

* * *

Obi eventually realizes that the right moment will never, never come. So on a warm evening when Shirayuki asks him to take her into the forest, he chooses his own moment.

Zen's timing, unlike Obi's, is impeccable. Obi's fingertips are still stinging when he rips them away from hers.

* * *

"Obi! Perfect timing!"

She's beautiful. That's all he's thinking when she lifts her long skirts and runs to him, wearing that determined look that tells him he's about to get a really good laugh.

"Be my dance partner!"

Aha.

He does everything he can to not burst out laughing when he sees the dance instructor hunched and trembling on the ground over his wrecked feet. While Shirayuki fusses over him, he looks at her pale, drawn face.

He reaches for her waist. Then stops, curling his fingers back one by one.

He'll wait.

* * *

_If I could write a little something about every single Obi x Shirayuki scene in the manga, I so totally would._

_If Obi had met Shirayuki first, would she be in love with him? What do you guys think?_

_I've gotten a few questions from readers about what I think of the AnS anime. To be honest, I'm much more of a reader than I am a show-watcher. I haven't seen even one minute of the anime. I might watch it eventually, but the manga to me is what's canon, and I like imagining the colors, characters' voices, thoughts, and everything for myself. :) But the show looks like it's really beautiful, so again, I might watch it. My only wish is that we get some form of closure for Obi and Shirayuki before the manga ends, which I personally hope isn't for a long time._

_Thanks again for all your reviews and ideas! To the precious Guest who requested a "haunted" theme: come Halloween-ish time, you will not be disappointed. ;) As for the rest of you, I will be sure to use your ideas throughout this series!_

_Stay beautiful,_

_-ISM_


	8. Analysand

_Weeellll, hey there, guys! Here's one of three prompts I've been working on simultaneously over the last week. The other two are bigger undertakings than I was anticipating, but hopefully they'll unravel themselves for me soon._

_So Obi and Shirayuki are moving along nicely in the manga, all best friends now and completely comfortable around each other. My only wish is that there are more "moments" between them, if you know what I meeaaaan. This fic is part of that, and also an answer to my own question: "Does Shirayuki even think that Obi is attractive?"_

_Happy reading! Heh heh heh..._

* * *

**Analysand**  
_Anyone who is undergoing psychoanalysis._

* * *

#42: Analysand

It wasn't until Shirayuki's nightgown had already slipped into place over her aching body that she realized she still needed to remind Ryuu to rotate the Luna Maris cuttings, and that she needed to go find him.

It was spring in Lyrias, sliding into summer, so the evening was cool, and Shirayuki figured it was perfectly fine to go to the small courtyard where he usually sequestered himself on nice nights like this to think and make notes.

She also figured it was perfectly fine to go in her nightgown and just not worry about it, because as satisfied as she felt from the long day's hard work, she was through with worrying and through with her sore muscles for the day. So she put up her hair messily in the mirror, slipped on a pair of soft shoes, and headed out the door.

Later, she could never decide if she fiercely regretted making those little decisions, or fiercely did not, considering the situation it landed her in that very night.

* * *

Shirayuki padded down the stairs, angled down another short flight, and ended up by the back door, which she opened. She stepped out into the deep blue evening and inhaled happily, stretching, shoulders cracking.

The little courtyard was ringed by low-maintenance gardens - small trees and shrubs, mostly, with a smattering of annual flowers - and marked the center of a group of squat apartment buildings where many employees and scholars lived. Including Shirayuki, Ryuu, and -

Obi?

She quickly stopped stretching, dropping her arms, and moved to the iron railing, curling her hands over it and peeking through the budding tree that partially blocked her view.

The moon lit the scene well, so Shirayuki could immediately tell that Ryuu was not in his usual spot. But a lone, flickering lamp set on a rock across the grassy stretch from Shirayuki illuminated someone else.

The lithe shape was definitely Obi's, tall and lean and immediately recognizable. Relief flooded her, and she smiled - he would undoubtedly know where his "Little Ryuu" (not so little anymore, honestly) had gone off to, and she could get to bed nice and quick tonight.

But even as she watched, before she could make her way down the stone steps to the ground and announce her presence, Obi moved closer to the flickering lantern light, moving strangely, in fits and starts, and revealed to Shirayuki two things.

First, that he was naked from the waist up.

And second, that he was busy.

Clad only in a loose pair of dark, linen pants - he was even _barefoot_, for goodness' sake - Obi's knees bent him into a wide-legged squat, but with his hips aligned perfectly underneath his shoulders, his arms shifting slowly, with both hands clenched into tight fists. His chest rose and fell evenly, the varying shapes of muscle and bone flickering with dancing shadow and deep orange firelight that illuminated the look of stony concentration on his face.

Shirayuki's breath caught in her chest, transfixed with equal parts surprise and fascination. And she knew that she couldn't disturb him.

_So_, she thought, _I'd better leave. Go look for Ryuu somewhere else, Shirayuki._

She didn't move.

Obi's spine straightened as if the crown of his head was attached to a string, and someone was above him pulling it. One of his knees rose on another invisible string, his foot lifting off the ground without the ankle bending. His arms rose with the knee, elbows pulling back, slowly, relaxed and curving like hair drifting through water.

Then he sprang and snapped his earth-bound foot into a kick so high and so fast Shirayuki had to cover her mouth to keep from gasping like a fool.

Obi landed silently in another crouch, then straightened up again, the knee rising again. Shirayuki braced herself, transfixed, but instead of leaping, he simply took a big, hugely deliberate step forward, rotating quickly and slightly like the hand on a clock ticking, and then he punched air twice, the corresponding hip snapping forward with the respective fist in perfect time, the elbow never overextending, smooth biceps tense and bulging with the exercise. Then he threw himself into a flurry of activity, striking and ducking, twisting and rolling, pausing to bend or rise into some position, locking into it, and then flinging himself at his imaginary foe once more with savage grace.

Then he straightened up to his full height, shoulders back and chin squared. Shirayuki hunched instinctively lower behind the railing, holding her breath. And then he just fell forward, catching himself on his palms in the grass, and Shirayuki moved quietly in a crouch down two steps to where no foliage would block her view of what he was doing, sitting on the step beneath her to keep herself small and as hidden as possible.

Slowly, moving at one, unbroken, smooth pace, Obi's legs, which were stretched out behind him like he was about to do a push-up, rose behind him, inexplicably. Shirayuki's mouth fell open as he lined his body up into a perfect horizontal line, with nothing but the palms of his hands touching the ground. Firelight licked at his back, his shoulder blades fierce shadows on a rippling quilt of clenched muscle. He held the position for just a moment, and then, second by agonizing second, his legs rose, ankles on the invisible string, his body at thirty degrees with the ground, then forty-five, until he achieved a perfect handstand. It was nothing like the sloppy, playful feats he displayed in the daytime in his most restless moments. Each half of his body was exactly symmetrical, and his toes even pointed skyward.

Then one of his palms detached from earth, and his arm folded behind his back. A single strained, grunting breath reached Shirayuki's ears. A line of sweat raced down between his shoulder blades.

Obi's body rolled, an effort rippling through him like falling dominoes, and he arched forward into a brief backbend, touching back down on his heels, then his feet, and then straightening in one movement, only for him to go up on one foot, his torso and arms lashing like a whip, striking an angular pose. And so it went.

Shirayuki herself had never dabbled in anything remotely athletic, and had never much appreciated it. She'd always stuck her nose in her books and plants and kept it there, and been fine with it. But now she drank in the sight before her, unable to help herself. She'd never seen Obi like this, not once in the few years she'd known him, and he was practically unrecognizable, almost something rather than someone.

But, she thought as Obi flung himself through the air before her eyes, weightless and strong, precise as a dancer, he _was_ someone. And he was _beautiful_.

It was that thought that snapped her out of it. Self-consciousness flooded her like ice-water in her brain, and she popped to her feet, stepping to the top of the stairs once more.

"Obi!"

"Wh_argh_!" Upside-down on his hands again, his head snapped around, and she could just see his amber eyes go wide before he tucked into an emergency somersault and wound up on his backside, hands braced behind him in the grass.

"Milady!" he yelped, scrambling to his feet. "Wait just a second, I'll be right up there!"

Shirayuki stifled a snort, her heart burgeoning with fondness. So much for "beautiful."

Obi ran to a corner of the courtyard and snatched up a pile of his clothes. He hooked the lantern in his other hand, and then hurried across the grass toward her without dressing, leaping up the stone steps. She stepped backward into the apartment building without thinking, and Obi followed her, pausing just inside the doorway, breathing heavily.

He grinned boyishly at her. "Sorry about that! What's up? How was today?"

She tried to smile back, quip something. Anything. But she couldn't, because her brain had switched itself off again. A grassy and very male smell filled the stairwell, then filled her head.

Shirayuki had seen Obi's body twice before - once with a purely medical eye, and once when she'd been too surprised and scandalized to look too long, with Obi tangled in bedsheets. He seemed to go on forever, crowding the stairwell, tall and lean - or not so lean now, with his muscles flushed, veins standing out with his recent workout. The old scar stretching across his pectorals, and other, smaller marks, flared pink against warm-colored skin, slicked with sweat. Amber eyes looked with equal warmth down at her, just beneath dark locks of his hair, which had grown a little long without her noticing.

"Milady?" he prompted her gently. Then he winked jokingly. "Cat got your tongue? Sorry, I'm just like this because I was having a little workout. Gotta keep sharp, you know. Little Ryuu already shot up without me noticing a thing! If I get all fat and slow out here, we'll go back home and Miss Kiki will want to spar and she'll kick my..."

He trailed off, brows scrunching lower and lower the longer he watched her. Shirayuki swallowed thickly and couldn't think of a thing to say. The longer and harder she cudgeled her brains, the brighter her embarrassment flared, until she felt her face flood hotly with color.

"Uh." Obi swallowed, too, standing awkwardly. He bent down to set his lantern and clothes on the floor, and panic fizzed inside her. He was thinking something was wrong.

Well, something _was_ wrong with her, for sure. She was losing her mind.

Her friend straightened back up with his eyes downcast, thinking. Then he angled himself and pointed behind him, back out into the courtyard. "Milady, were you just - were you _watching_ -"

His gaze rose to meet hers. She felt strangely like cowering. Then, before her eyes, deep color flushed under his dark skin, starting in his cheeks and flushing in his neck, down to his shoulders and under his collarbones and the hollow of his throat.

"Milady," he said roughly.

For goodness' sake. She was being so silly. She'd seen people's bodies before, hadn't she? Had she ever reacted like this - breaking down, brain cell by brain cell? Sir Mitsuhide, chiseled as if from rock but so helplessly sweet and sometimes awkward. Zen, lean and built like a runner; she hadn't thought twice about his shirtless body, thinking only of where to apply the medicine for his strained neck. So what was going on with her now?

The answer drifted to her from the back of her mind.

It was a little more than just seeing Obi's skin.

Suddenly, Obi's gaze fell and flicked back up to meet hers, taking in her thin, soft nightgown. Shirayuki's ears filled with a rushing sound. The tangle of nervous warmth in her gut flared into a flame.

Resolve lit in Obi's expression, and he stepped closer. Shirayuki's neck craned. Her fingers pinched nervously in the fabric of her nightgown just above her thighs.

Holding her gaze for a blazing instant, he then looked down, reached forward with one hand - one _bare_ hand, God help her - and slipped his fingers into her right palm, gently prying her hand from her nightgown and bringing it up toward him, dangerously close to the skin of his chest.

His hand was still warm.

"Hey," he said, voice shaking. "Please say something."

Living with him for the past nearly two years, everything about him was familiar. Laughing with him, adventuring with him, it was all as easy and comfortable as breathing. And whatever it was that was happening to her right now, it wasn't fear, or dismay, or disgust.

His hand adjusted and fisted around hers, squeezing strongly. An overwhelming urge to move forward, into him, washed over her.

And her hand was ripping from his and she whirled away and she was running up the stairs as fast as her legs could carry her.

She cursed herself for it later, but as she gained the top stair, she stopped, and she had to, _had_ to turn around to look at him just once, and he was standing there stupefied in the doorway, gorgeous and her friend and alone, looking cowed and maybe, just maybe, a little bit hurt.

"Goodnight, Obi," she squeaked.

He blinked owlishly up at her. "...Goodnight, Milady."

She took the second flight of stairs up to her room two at a time.

* * *

She looked in her full-length mirror. Her whole face was red, setting off her messy, done-up hair, and glazed green eyes stared wildly back at her. She turned to look at her shut door, heart hammering in her chest and threatening to shatter into a thousand pieces.

The way he'd _looked at her_, though.

She felt jittery, energized beyond anything she'd felt before, like she just wanted to throw her door open and tear back down those stairs and find Obi and -

\- and? -

\- and probably do _anything_ but ask where Ryuu was.

She stared at the second bed, where Ryuu was not, where he was not hearing from her about rotating the Luna Maris cuttings, because she couldn't go back down those stairs, not for the life of her, because she didn't know what was happening, and she was scared.

It was all she could do to fling herself onto her bed, bury her face in her pillow, and scream into it.

* * *

_Oh, boy, there's a part of me that's thinking we need a sequel to this one. Maybe it'll happen. Somewhere down the line. Maybe._

_And, no, Shirayuki was not simply overcome with lust for Obi's body. But seeing him did unlock something that she hadn't known was there. Like... feelings._

_Anyone ever suddenly realized you had feelings for a good friend? Anybody? (I have.)_

_Leave a review! Hope you enjoyed it! Stay beautiful,_

_-ISM_


	9. Agent

_Ye gods, it's been too long. So here is part one of the next theme, part two to come out (hopefully) shortly after! Thanks to YukiYamada1999 for suggesting a great quote by Charles Stanley, which helped inspire this two-shot. The same theme will apply to both parts - or not. We'll see. _

_Everybody has had this what-if scenario go through their heads at least once. _

_DISCLAIMER: This timeline is not at all what I think Sorata-san actually intends us to think. What happened to Obi probably happened long before Shirayuki ever met Raji, and it probably wasn't what caused him to leave his former life. This is just an AU of sorts, combined with some of my deep-set headcanons._

_Happy reading!_

* * *

"_Fear stifles our thinking and actions. It creates indecisiveness that results in stagnation. I have known talented people who procrastinate indefinitely rather than risk failure. Lost opportunities cause erosion of confidence, and the downward spiral begins._"  
-Charles Stanley

"_If you had been there to treat it, it probably wouldn't have left a scar._"  
-Obi

* * *

#2: Agent

It's night, and a stiff northern breeze brings the smell of cold to Tanbarun.

Where laundry hangs on the lines slung between buildings, squashed meekly shoulder-to-shoulder like so many misbehaved children, the wind manifests itself the most; a sweet pine scent left on sheets, sharp deciduous clinging to undershirts that flutter and snap in the dark. The enlivening, aromatic musk of things beginning to die, and none of it at all sad.

The cobblestones paving the steep, narrow street are glossy. Spattered starlight and the amber glow from the lone candle in the pharmacy's window betray the disturbances where stray raindrops still begrudgingly fall.

Shirayuki stands on her worn doorstep, shivering in her shirtsleeves.

It's dark.

She's all alone.

And there's someone coming up the street.

Close up shop early, they said. Snuff your candles and get to bed quick, they said.

The nearby, harsh scraping of dragging, uneven footsteps somehow strikes Shirayuki's eardrums with force. She jumps, then clenches her jaw against her own trembling.

There's a stranger hereabouts, they said. And he looks like nothing good.

Shirayuki wants to laugh, but doesn't, knowing how hysterical she'll sound if she does, and also not wanting whoever - or _what_ever - is coming to know that she's standing outside her shop in the otherwise abandoned street like a dolt.

More shuffling, heavy footsteps; the larger, louder scratching noise of clothes pressed and dragging on plaster walls.

He can't even stand on his own anymore.

It's _that_, she thinks, that's keeping her from running back into the pharmacy. As many times as several townspeople have warned her today, as alone and afraid she has to admit she is -

A low groan fills the empty street, chills her to the bone, and she thinks, _Get a grip._

Within moments, she's inside, locked the door, closed the shutters -

\- she holds her breath -

\- nothing happens for long, long seconds -

\- she lets it out, chuckles at her own silliness, and reaches for a string of dried roots dangling from her ceiling, just to steady herself.

Someone thumps on her door three times.

She hasn't blown the candle out.

* * *

In her nervousness, the door literally flies open. It hits the outside wall and ricochets back on her, and she catches it, and stares.

He doesn't look, well. Human.

"Ow," is all he manages to say in his very non-human voice, and it's probably the most wit she's ever seen a dying person muster. Under the blood on his face, he cracks a toothy little smile. Golden eyes - they're _arresting_, and a complicated amber color, like honey dripped on dark stone - manage to focus on her for just an instant, flashing in the candlelight. Wide and a little crazed.

Then he crumples.

Just, _boom_.

She doesn't think. Just leaps forward, down off the step, and catches him against her chest with her arms thrust under his.

His weight takes them down to their knees, where the street is painful and wet on her legs, but it's nothing compared to how dirt- and blood-smeared and ragged and rank he is, and with his head heavy and listless on her shoulder, she says to no one, "Oh, boy."

* * *

She gets him to take a long drink of water from a flask, then sits him on her kitchen floor, propped up against some shelves, while she clears the table. After she's thrown a crisp bed sheet over it, she rounds on him, pulse thundering in her neck.

His head is lolled to one side, but he's awake, with his unfocused, golden eyes wandering and flickering to and fro, finding her and then losing her and finding her again. Probably trying to stare her down, she thinks, and achieving only drunkenness instead of intimidation.

He's aware of that, and tries to wink at her. "Hey. Nice mouse. Uh, I mean... house."

She smiles down at him and rolls up her sleeves, hoping he can't see her hands shaking. She doesn't know what she's more afraid of - what she's going to have to do once he's on her table, or him. "Do you know where you are?"

He giggles. "You're hilarious. Nope."

She steps toward him. "Then - what's your name?"

"Funnier. Not telling."

He coughs horrendously, retching, and speckles her floor with blood.

Good grief. She closes her eyes, breathes in deeply, then slowly kneels, his crazed eyes failing to follow even that movement. "Well, that's fine. But my name's Shirayuki, you're in Tanbarun, and you're hurt really, really badly." Slowly, she reaches for him. "So I'm going to take some of your clothes off. Okay?"

His breathing grows rapider and rapider the nearer her hand gets, but otherwise, he shows no sign of fear - only bravado, and sickness. An interesting combination to say the least. He flashes a pained grin. "Never thought I'd see the day when a girl says that to m-"

He chokes the words off rather than risk vocalizing his pain. She's reached his left shoulder, where a clasp is holding a thick, bloodied cowl over his neck and chin, and when she moves it, it drags just below his throat and on his collarbones, so instead, she reaches with her other hand and unclasps it, pulling it off his neck as gently as she can. The headpiece over his forehead comes next; its careful removal elicits a hiss from him nonetheless. It comes free from where caked blood had stuck it to his skin and hair.

Matted black hair, a forehead and nose and one cheek almost completely crusted with blood. He's too pale for her to tell what his skin is like, only that, without the mask and cowl, she can tell how scrawny he is, like he's spent a couple good years eating okay, but not quite well enough. She can't even tell where his wounds are, and can only hope it's not his head.

The worst, though, the worst part - is his chest, where his tunic hangs in a long, diagonally-torn flap, open to a mess of more dried, and not-so-dried, blood, very much like someone had taken a big knife and just -

She swallows. "Can you lift your arms up?"

The amount of sass he musters in one, blurry look floors her.

"Okay. Then -" And she reaches for the slash in his chest.

Iron strength catches her wrist with the force of a punch. Her fingers splay in surprise, but while he doesn't let her reach any further, he doesn't let her pull back, either. Their faces are close together, and now, even though his chin has sunken down toward his neck, his glazed eyes leer up at her from under his bloodied brow and manage, this time, to make her rethink her life choices.

"Don't," he growls.

She doesn't say anything, only concentrates on keeping her expression calm. Firm.

And something about that makes him change the longer he looks at her. She watches his resolve, and his own fear, drain from him. Then exhaustion crumples his expression like paper under running water, and his partially-gloved fingers loosen on her wrist before his arm drops weakly into his lap.

He doesn't even protest when, upon finding that his tunic is made of stronger stuff than she's seen woven in Tanbarun, and that it's not as easy as simply tugging it off over his head, she has to find a knife to cut the garment off him.

A thin, black undershirt is all that's left, sliced through just like the tunic, and she rolls the lowermost hem up in her hands before pulling it up and off him, to find that he'd clumsily tried to bandage himself at some point.

Shirayuki turns, faces the same way as him, and squats to sling one of his arms over her shoulders. "I need a little help," she says, and then, thinking of what Grandma would say, adds, "Please?"

He shakily heaves himself to his feet, and she half-guides, half-drags him to her kitchen table. With strength she hadn't thought he'd possess, he hoists himself up onto it, then sort of collapses to the side, lying down and letting her arrange him and his limbs lengthwise on the table, trying to keep the bed sheet completely under him.

"You a doctor?" he slurs while she begins cutting the loose, soiled bandages off his thin torso.

She smiles cheerily down at him. "Sort of?"

He stares, then says in a low voice, "Well, I'm this close to dying anyway."

* * *

The man dying all over her kitchen table drifts in and out of consciousness until he's finally out cold, his cracked lips slightly parted and those eyes still roaming restlessly beneath sweat-shiny lids.

The horror of the situation hasn't hit Shirayuki yet, and she's glad for it. For now, she can stay focused on thinking medically, removed from whatever hell this man has just crawled out of.

Or into.

She cuts the string that's stitched up his chest with her teeth, carefully ties it off, and then picks up a towel she's just used to clean up his chest. He has at least a dozen other injuries she needs to tend to.

He wakes briefly while she's washing his hair. After a particularly tough pass with a soapy rag through the short, blood-matted strands, she finds his eyes are open and watching her again.

"Do you know where you are?" she asks, returning his stare.

His brow furrows, which apparently hurts, because he quickly stops. "...Tanbarun. What... are you doing?"

Relief floods her. "I'm looking for a reason not to shave your head bald," she chuckles.

"...Why?"

"There's stuff in your hair."

"Oh." His gaze starts to flicker again, baring the whites of his eyes. "Don't shave me bald."

"You got it." She watches him lick futilely at his dry, cracking lips, then leaves him to take up a fresh cloth and soak it in the water basin. She returns and presses it to his lips, and his stare is so steady on her face this time, she actually has to look away in embarrassment.

When she's lifted his head to get him to take another long, gulping drink from her flask, on a whim, she eases him back down and scrubs the towel gently over his brow, giving him time to snap his eyes shut before scrubbing at his eyebrows and the wells of his eyes. When she takes the towel away, she just cradles his cheek with it. His eyes open again, and he looks human for the first time.

"Am I wearing pants?" he croaks.

"No," she admits. She's grateful for his belief in underwear, though.

"Okay." And just like that, he's gone once again.

* * *

Shirayuki is no doctor, so it's the least she can do to stay awake through the night with a medically unsound patient. So when she wakes up in a cold ball on the kitchen floor, she bolts upright guiltily.

A noise - rustling sheets - makes her look up.

His wide-awakefulness makes her stare. His surprised face is probably reflecting hers.

Also, he's standing. On his own. Wrapped in the bedsheet. And bending over her.

"Uh." He scratches the back of his head with a bandaged hand. "Didn't mean to wake you?"

"I didn't mean to sleep," she confesses, and he gives her a crooked, toothless smile that crinkles his eyes in the warmest way she thinks she's ever seen.

Shirayuki springs to her feet, and she's in his space, a deep breath away from touching him. They flinch violently apart, Shirayuki knocking backwards into the table, the half-mummified man flattening himself against the jar-laden shelves opposite her.

"Sorry!" she gasps, flattening a hand over her pounding heart. "You just - _why in the world are you walking around?_"

"I don't know! I feel fine!" He waves a hand in a big arc to illustrate his point, knocks into a jar with his elbow, and then - Shirayuki can't explain it. The jar is unfathomably in the inner crook of his hand and wrist when it should be in smithereens on the floor. "Ow," he grunts at his arm.

"How did-?!" Shirayuki bites off her exclamation, frowns, and strides forward to take the jar from him. He shifts away from her again. "Don't move so fast! In fact, just stop moving!"

"Easy there, Little Miss, I'm fine!" he cries, almost laughing in his protests. He holds up his hands and lets the sheet cling precariously to his shoulders, revealing his body criss-crossed with plaster and bandages. "I'm a fast healer, I'm always up and moving in no time at all!"

He folds his arms up behind his head and then promptly doubles over, the sheet drifting to the floor in a crumpled heap. His eyes are squinched shut in agony, and she's too frozen to go to him - until he unwraps his arms from around himself to reveal a splotch of vibrantly red blood slowly spreading across his chest.

He looks up at her meekly. "...I have to tell you, this is an off day for me."

* * *

A hard but lean and lanky body, with long hands and feet; bad, lazy posture; thin brows and strange, expressive, narrow eyes; black hair short enough that it has no choice but to stand softly upright, still sort of dirty; dark, but gold-tinted skin that hales from no country Shirayuki has ever seen or heard of. There's something eternally boyish about him even though he's probably older than she is, like he'd resolved somewhere in his childhood to never grow up, but now that untold and mysterious years have caught up with him, leaving him more refined and experienced like every other new adult, he's an undecided tangle of both.

Whenever their eyes meet, she feels a shocked sort of thrill - like there's an actual collision in the air between them. Followed by a tug in her chest - like she's being drawn in, but doesn't want to be.

It had been one thing to be around the semi- to unconscious patient. It's wholly another to be with the real one.

Anyway.

"Are you going to tell me your name now?" Shirayuki asks.

"I didn't tell you before?"

She shakes her head and he chuckles.

She looks up at his face. He's watching her out of the corners of his eyes because his head is turned as far away from her as it can go while he sits on the table before her, cringing from her touch and nearness as much as he can while still letting her do her work. Perhaps that is a direct result of her bandaging the deep cut above his left eye - the sole reason for all that blood on his face and in his hair. There's a hard steeliness in his eyes now, even when he's smiling, no sign of the warmth that greeted her just minutes ago.

It's a face that whispers, _Keep your distance._

\- she thinks as she stands between his knees and smears plaster all over his bare chest.

At least he's wearing his pants again, torn and disgusting as they are. It's the only thing he's actually asked her for.

"I'm Obi," he says simply. "I have aliases, and I have lots of secrets."

He probably lets the silence hang for effect.

It's like she's turned a bend to find that the waterfall she'd been eagerly anticipating was really just an average trickle. "That's it?"

"Hey, you." He narrows his eyes at her and grimaces. "What were you expecting?"

"Something else?" she hazards, and reaches around him to pass a bandage roll around his torso. "So - what _happened_ to you?"

He looks at the ceiling and pretends not to understand, kneading his right shoulder and getting his arm in her way somewhat. "Hm?"

"What made you almost die in my house last night?" she specifies tightly, irked.

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that."

A few knives here, some man-eating beasts there. "I can tell you're a private person," she says delicately, tying off the bandage and cutting the roll free. "But I just saved your life, you know."

The atmosphere is instantly so tense, she has to look at him again. His look is sharp, and downright cold.

They don't say anything for a moment.

"What?" she asks firmly.

"What do you think I owe you?" he asks quietly.

Confusion contorts her expression. "Wha - _nothing_. I'm just curious."

"About what?"

"_You_."

"Do you want me to trust you or something?"

"No!" She sighs. "That would be nice, but no, I guess not. I don't want anything."

The disbelief is plain on his face. He's already forgotten to cringe away from her. So before he can ask anything more, she turns from him, takes his discarded and torn undershirt from the counter, and hands it to him. He clutches it to his chest and stares at her.

"I didn't ask to be helped," he says, hand going to his shoulder again. Most of his casual bravado is nowhere to be found.

"I helped you because it was the right thing to do," she says back, smiling a little at him. "So if you think I have some ulterior motive or something - sorry."

"You're _apologizing_." He bunches the undershirt into a circle and puts it over his head, letting it hang around his neck. "You're kind of weird, Little Miss."

The nickname makes her cheeks burn with misplaced embarrassment.

"Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do," he adds, and smirks. Teasing.

"Helping people is _always_ the right thing to do," she replies evenly, and turns and begins opening cupboards, searching.

He snorts a little. "So what I say doesn't matter?"

"No, it doesn't matter."

"But you're scared of me, aren't you?"

Her hand closes over the loaf of bread she's looking for, then she turns and faces him, and knows she can't do anything but be honest. "You're a stranger dressed like a bandit who showed up half-dead on my doorstep at night." She shrugs. "You're scared of me, too, though I have no idea why."

"A bandit?" he echoes disapprovingly. "Do I look like I could steal from you?"

She hands him the loaf of bread. "Eat this, please. Your clothes are a little... They make you not look like yourself."

"Well, I'm not wearing them _now_." He sets the bread aside and starts wiggling into his undershirt, slowly and in pained fits and starts. And then, while his head is still engulfed in the undershirt and the tangle of his own arms: "I don't want to take your food."

For all that he can't see it, Shirayuki still breaks into a smile.

And it's right then that there's a loud rapping on her window shutters.

* * *

Shirayuki throws the window open and quickly pushes the shutters to either side, and rosy-cheeked, plump little Missus Taki from the bakery up the street immediately grabs her face in both her pudgy hands.

"Shirayuki, dearest!" she cries, her face a picture. "We were _so worried_ about you!"

She nearly pulls Shirayuki all the way through the window so she can plant a kiss on the top of her head. Shirayuki, ribs grinding against the windowsill, laughs a little too nervously and wiggles free, pulling herself upright again and cautiously keeping the windowframe between herself and another potential accosting. "Morning to you, too, Missus Taki! Who's worried about me?"

Blinking in the morning light, Shirayuki finds Missus Taki standing in the cobblestone street, wrapped in her usual coat even though it's not cold, apparently alone. A few townspeople have already gained the streets, though, and some of them wave to Shirayuki, who waves back a little halfheartedly.

She's tired. And distracted.

"Why, me, and Mister Taki, and the blacksmith, and the tanner - _all_ of us, dearest!" The woman whips out her handkerchief and dabs at her face, already perspiring in her coat though the day is still young. "I didn't even want you sleeping in this old place all by yourself last night, I mean, just thinking about it, I could barely sleep myself -"

Shirayuki knows the guilt must be written in every line of her face, so she quickly says, "Please, Missus Taki - what are you _talking_ about?"

"The _stranger_, dearest!" Missus Taki squeaks. Shirayuki winces. "The outsider that was wandering through the town last evening! Ugh, he looked a fright. Right after Mister Taki stopped by the pharmacy to warn you, I actually _saw_ the man coming up the street, looking like he wanted to come into the bakery!"

"Did you really?" Shirayuki asks weakly.

"Yes! Mister Taki bolted the door and closed the shutters before he could get close, thank heavens. But that's not the point!" she snaps suddenly, dabbing with the handkerchief again. "The tanner told me barely a minute ago that he caught a glimpse of the stranger, too, only later last night than when we saw him. He said he was coming _straight_ for the pharmacy." Missus Taki looks almost faint with worry, and she stares up at Shirayuki imploringly. "Dearest, did anyone, anything, trouble you last night? Did anyone knock on the door? Did you see the stranger, too?"

It takes Shirayuki barely a moment to make her decision. She takes a deep breath.

"Nothing happened last night, Missus Taki!" she says in her most reassuring tone, forcing a light laugh. "I didn't even see anyone unusual. And look, I'm fine! Everything's fine."

Shirayuki tells herself she imagines the low chuckle she hears from somewhere behind her.

"...Yes," Missus Taki sighs after a moment. "You really do seem to be fine. Looking a bit peaky, though."

Shirayuki cups her own cheeks; they're cool to the touch. "I - I'm fine."

"Listen," the woman says seriously. "Dearest, you know you have a safe place with us. Always. You must come to us whenever you need anything, understand?"

Shirayuki has gotten this same speech from at least five or six different people several times over the past year, so she nods mechanically, her mind in the kitchen behind her.

Missus Taki sighs again. "Goodness. If your Baba and Deda knew -" She winces and looks quickly at Shirayuki. "Uh - I mean, if y_our grandparents_ knew that you were living here all by yourself, running a business..." She breaks off and shakes her head. "Well, never mind. I'll leave you to it."

"Missus Taki..." Shirayuki begins quietly, but the older woman holds a hand up to stop her.

"Oh, yes! Before I go, Shirayuki!" Another round of frantic dabbing with the handkerchief. "I was wondering if you had your rosehip ointment ready yet. For my complexion, you know..."

* * *

Usually, Shirayuki doesn't open up shop until nine in the morning. Mistress Taki had stopped by at seven-thirty, and seeing the pharmacy window open had brought in a small wave of pleasantly-surprised customers. And thus the second-strangest day of Shirayuki's life began - at a frantic pace.

And Obi was the talk of the town.

Shirayuki doesn't get a breather until after nine, and it's then that she quickly hangs her _Away_ sign out the window and closes the shutters firmly. Then she turns and sinks back against the edge of the countertop, sighing and rubbing her face. Her skin feels gritty - she hasn't washed it yet this morning.

She lets her hands fall to her sides, opens her eyes, and Obi has materialized from the ether, sitting crosslegged on the table, untouched bread loaf in hand, ragged undershirt successfully in place.

Her hand flies to her chest again. "I - I don't think I'm going to get used to that."

He raises his eyebrows. "To what?"

"You - teleporting."

"You'll get used to it," he assures her somewhat smugly, then looks thoughtfully at the bread in his half-gloved hands. "It's always interesting to hear what the neighbors have to say, huh?"

Oh. She wonders how he feels getting talked about like that by so many people, when not one of them has even met him.

But, wait -

And she blushes to the roots of her hair because she realizes he's heard _everything_.

Obi looks up from his lap. "'Baba' and 'Deda?'"

"My grandparents," Shirayuki all but mumbles, automatically.

"I gathered as much."

The silence stretches, Obi waits, and if this is a battle, Shirayuki thinks, then she's determined to win it.

She's already made up her mind to relent when Obi looks away in a manner that does not make Shirayuki feel like she's won at all, and he says, "So are Tanbarun's citizens _always_ this jumpy?"

It takes Shirayuki a moment for her brain to catch up. "Oh! No, the people here are really warm. Hospitality is extremely important." She bites her lip. "Did you really go from door to door before you got to my pharmacy?"

"Not _every _door. I honestly don't remember too much, but I know I went toward houses that obviously had someone in them." He shrugs, and finally begins picking at the bread loaf. "Open windows. Lights under doors." He looks at her from underneath short lashes.

"It's just so strange. I don't understand why _no one _would -"

"-open up for me?" he finishes when her voice falters, and he eats a very small chunk of bread, chewing tentatively. Maybe he's naseous, or just in that much pain still. "Maybe they just know a real stranger when they see one."

He hums to himself as he eats, taking birdlike bites, cheerful as he lets her wallow in non-understanding. And she wonders just _what _she's let into her house.

Her next question is like ripe fruit clinging to the branch, impatient; it finally falls. "Were did you come from?"

It hits with a wet _thud_. Obi's smirk goes distant; already planning on skirting around the truth. "Trust me, it's not important."

"Were you running away from something?" she insists. "Someone?"

"It's not the police, if that's what you're wondering."

"So you _were_ running away!"

He shrugs, and instantly throws her theory back into clouded uncertainty. "Away. Toward. Into. It's all the same, Miss. I was somewhere. Something needed to change. I finally left. End of story." The next look he throws her is equal parts amused and - challenging, and she has to grip the edge of the counter to keep from shrinking back from it. "So _my_ question is, what is a girl doing here in this sleepy town, grandparents gone, no one at home, who lets in scary, torn-up strangers -" He gives her a flash of teeth and Shirayuki scowls at him. "- in the middle of the night, and runs a local, dead-end herb shop, saving the world one acne case and common cold at a time."

The silence aches.

"Why do you care?" she asks, voice steady but quiet, like there's a great burden on her shoulders, constricting her lungs.

Obi doesn't shrug this time; he's looking at her like she's a map and there's not enough moonlight out for him to read it, but he's sure that the sun is still coming eventually. If only she knew where he was thinking he was headed.

She finds, with a start, that she's taken a few steps toward him; they're barely an arm's-length apart. He reaches for his shoulder, gripping it until his knuckles go white. "You don't seem the type," he says shortly.

"What type?"

"The type to bow to circumstance," he replies, "and then wait to be acted upon."

Abruptly, he puts the loaf down. It's this last detail that makes Shirayuki bristle like an affronted cat. "_Finish_ that."

"Sorry, Miss," he says lightly. His lanky legs stretch out along the table and he makes as though to ease himself down and strike a dashing pose. Then, without warning, his voice drops like a stone into his chest. "Timber."

And he faints dead away.

* * *

"Slow down there, Miss! You've already got me swooning for you."

They're in her bedroom. It's the most elegant possible solution, she thinks. Taking a step closer, she thrusts the bundle of clothes in her arms at him once more.

His eyebrows nearly vanish under the bandage on his forehead. "And now you want me to change my clothes? What if I'm shy?"

"You lost a _lot_ of blood," Shirayuki says for the third time. "_Way_ too much. If you keep moving around so much, you're just going to get worse and worse and keep passing out until -"

"-until I complete my metamorphosis into a damsel in distress?"

It takes a surprising amount of control to not bust up at that one; he grins slowly as he witnesses her internal struggle.

"You need to _eat_ and _drink_ and _sleep_." She schools her twitching face and points at her bed, covers already pulled back for him. "And you won't get it dirty, like you keep saying, if you wear these."

"I can't take those."

She fixes him with a look that pins him like a grasshopper there up against the wall. "_Yes_ \- you can."

Really, she doesn't get him. There are a thousand jokes he could have made by now, and he's made some, like he's throwing some strange shield up between himself and her. But he hasn't made one of _them_. He hasn't _attacked_.

So she steps forward, steps close, and he pushes hesitantly away from the wall so she can press the men's black shirt and pants into his arms.

"No one's using them," she tells him gently. Then she walks away before she can get a good look at the face he makes in response - and before he can get a good look at hers.

* * *

_His eyes fly open when someone thumps on the front door, loud. Demanding. His body under the sheets is as rigid as a cramp feels._

_The fever's back and burning too hot to cater to his even thinking of leaving the bed. But thank goodness her house is so small, because with a little maneuvering, he can see pretty clearly through the crack between the bedroom door, coquettishly ajar, and the wall. And straight on to the front door._

_Her apron is in place when she scrambles to answer the door; he wonders how many customers she's had since he fell asleep. She opens it with a cheerful greeting._

_It's not a customer._

_A frantic glance over her shoulder makes his eyes slam shut. The tromping of boots on the bedroom floor, the clanking of a sword in its sheath, never come._

_Their conversation, grossly one-sided, would have made him roar with laughter if it didn't turn his stomach in ways that battles and men and his relatively small world never have. As the event unfolds, he plans his next move. He figures he can hide out in the house at least until evening; if he's lucky, until daybreak._

_Then, fever or no, he'll run. Again._

You, too, Little Miss, _he thinks. Her form looks misleadingly frail silhouetted by the light pouring in through the open door. The man is already gone, message delivered._ You'd better run, too.

* * *

She can be gone in half an hour. It would be easy.

The wood of the table is hard and bracing under her palms as she leans over it, trapped in thought. Suspended in indecision. She feels like a bird with its two feet clutching different branches as they're getting slowly pulled farther apart.

And, well - she _wants_ to be gone. More than anything.

She looks up, leans until she's struck just the right angle, and sees where Obi is tucked into her bed, asleep in the grasp of his fever.

Shirayuki doesn't think she's all that many things. So it's easier than she'd thought it would be to pack them all into one box, have a sort of really angry cry in the corner of her kitchen, wash her face, open her window, and finish up with the last few customers of the night.

* * *

_The hours before nightfall tick and tick by, and she doesn't leave._

_He's sure of it, though. He's sure._

_When she comes in at dusk, his vision fills up with a flowery apron as she leans over him to set something between his shoulder and the wall. A loaf of bread, bakery-fresh by the smell of it._

_He catches her wrist in passing before it whips out of sight; she flinches hard, and regret floods him, a throb of pain pulsing through the shoulder he's sure won't ever heal._

_Why are you still here? he wants to say, but can't, and he ends up just staring what he thinks is really meaningfully at her while she stares really meaningfully right back. Then she moves and suddenly sweet blessed paradisical heaven is pressed to his burning forehead, covering his eyes. He feels cool fingers push briefly through his hair, and she's gone._

_He wakes up a long time later, at sometime past dawn, with a clear head full to bursting with enough foreboding to propel him to whip the lukewarm cold cloth off his face and to pitch him to his feet._

_Sneaking like a hunting cat, he searches the house. Herbs in jars, herbs hanigng from the ceiling, herbs growing in the windowsills. No Miss. And the front door is open._

_"Mr. Kagi, it's awful!"_

_Obi throws himself flat against the inside wall, staring at the empty innards of the house, forlorn and already swirling with dust in blades of sunlight; at the empty kitchen table that makes his chest sting just looking at it, while the shrill woman outside talks loudly enough to make his head pound._

_"Two soldiers marched right up to her front door, and - well, they were going to knock, but Shirayuki opened up and came out before they even could. And then - oh!"_

_"Missus Taki, get ahold of yourself -"_

_"They took her!" she wails. "They took her away with them!"_

* * *

_The original plan was to swich more often between Obi and Shirayuki's perspectives, but it got a little too melodramatic and bleh, so Obi only comes in where he absolutely has to._

_Part two will literally be a direct continuation of the story, so stay tuned! And stay beautiful!_

_-ISM_


End file.
